


Two Hours and Eleven Minutes

by CinnamonLily



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Concussions, Doctor Peter, Doctor Peter Hale, M/M, Mates, Mates Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Meet-Cute, Patient Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 06:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14278416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonLily/pseuds/CinnamonLily
Summary: Stiles is the klutziest klutz that ever klutzed.





	Two Hours and Eleven Minutes

 

 

“Ow….” Stiles looked at the ceiling of his dingy bathroom and blinked in confusion. “What the f—” Oh, right. _Jesus Christ_ , he needed a keeper.

He got to his feet, knees banging together as they shook. The sad thing was, this sort of unsteadiness wasn’t new. He’d fell so many times in his lifetime, he knew what a concussion felt like.

He turned off the shower and glanced over to the mirror on the opposite wall. He looked clean, at least. No shampoo in the hair this time around. Then it occurred to him to check the back of his head. There was a massive lump and some blood, but not much. This time.

It took him a while to get out of the bathroom, dry himself and get dressed. He called an Uber and even managed to get downstairs without further incidents. The girl driving the car looked at him funny when he said he needed to go to the ER.

Fifteen minutes later, he wobbled—she’d peeled off the curb like her car was on fire—through the doors and glanced around at the blessedly mostly empty waiting room.

A tall African-American nurse was walking past him and caught his elbow just as he was about to go down again.

“Oh no, man, not today,” the guy with a name tag with “V. Boyd” written on it murmured.

He took Stiles to the reception desk, then stood by him until the nurse decided he should go directly into a small curtained off cubicle thing. Nurse Boyd parked him on the bed, wished him luck, and went to continue his regular schedule, Stiles assumed.

He’d rested on the bed for maybe five minutes, listening to the sounds of the ER, when suddenly someone pulled open the curtain so violently, the metal rings above screeched and Stiles almost fell out of the bed.

A man in a white coat stood there, his nostrils flaring as he stared at Stiles. He was obviously a doctor, but what the hell?

“Dr. Hale, this is Mr. Stilinski, he’s fallen and hit his head,” a nurse said to the man from behind his shoulder.

The blue eyes seemed to flash when the doctor just held a hand toward her and took the clipboard from her without ever taking his gaze off Stiles.

She didn’t seem upset, just smiled wryly as she waited for orders.

“You can go, Janet,” Dr. Hale said in a growly tone, and _that_ seemed to surprise the poor nurse. She left immediately, looking a bit startled but not scared.

“You’re a werewolf,” Stiles stated as soon as she’d gone and Dr. Hale had started to go over his information.

That got the man’s attention, and those piercing blue eyes honed on Stiles’s face like heat seeking missiles.

“Yes, is that a problem?” Dr. Hale raised a brow in an almost challenging way, but suddenly Stiles detected something almost vulnerable flashing through his expression.

“Oh no, not at all. I know plenty of ‘wolves, just an… an observation.” He waved his hand a little, feeling a bit loopy again. _Shit._

“Okay, you need your head checked, and once you’re done with that, someone will make sure you don’t bleed everywhere. I’ll come check you again later.” Dr. Hale nodded to Stiles, handed the clipboard to the nurse who materialized from somewhere once more, and walked off.

“Oh… yeah, he’d have smelled the blood,” Stiles murmured. He’d remembered he hadn’t told the nurses that. Wolf noses were awesome.

Things went pretty much the same way they always would. A scan, no stitches this time, and they wouldn’t let him sleep. He did get some mild pain meds and a nurse came to bring him a sandwich when she figured out he hadn’t eaten in hours.

He was half asleep when his curtain was pulled to the side, more calmly this time. Stiles opened his eyes to see Dr. Hale there with his stupid eyes and jawline and smirk and amazing neck and just no. He closed his eyes again.

“Well, Mr. Stilinski, I suppose you can leave our humble ER in about… two hours and fifteen minutes.”

Stiles opened his eyes again. “What?”

“Two hours and fifteen minutes.”

He must’ve looked awfully confused, because Dr. Hale came closer to him, leaning toward him a little. “That’s when my shift ends.”

“Are you hitting on me?” Stiles’s eyes were probably the size of average dinner plates. “Isn’t that pretty fucking unprofessional?”

“Yes, I assure you it really is,” Dr. Hale admitted, smirking.

“Then why the f—” Stiles looked at the name tag hanging from Dr. Hale’s breast pocket. “A cardiologist?”

“Yes, I was checking on one of my regulars who came in to the ER with some chest pains, when I smelled a scent I never had before and certainly hope I never will again.” His expression turned into that oddly vulnerable one from before. This time he didn’t hide it.

“W-what was that?” Stiles breathed.

“The blood of my mate.”

Stiles blinked. “I don’t even know your first name.”

“It’s Peter Francis Hale. Do you have a nickname, Mieczyslaw?”

Somehow, Peter didn’t butcher the pronunciation. It seemed like a minor miracle and Stiles chose to think of that as a sign.

“Yes, Stiles.”

“Well, Stiles, would you want to get out of here with me when my shift ends. Get some late dinner, maybe?”

“Uh, well I’m wearing sweats and a hoodie, so….”

“I could cook for you?”

“Is it true?” Stiles asked quietly.

Without missing a beat, Peter nodded, took his hand into his own, and squeezed Stiles’s fingers.

“Yes. There are some things wolves don’t ever lie about.”

“Okay.” Stiles nodded slowly.

He looked at Peter, who was even more handsome up close. He wasn’t sure how he got this lucky, but somehow, he had. A _cardiologist_? Seriously?

Then, because he knew a few things about werewolves, he grinned at Peter. An interested light lit up in Peter’s gaze, obviously picking up Stiles was up to something.

When Stiles tilted his head to expose his neck to his mate, Peter made a helpless little sound. He held back for a few beats, making sure Stiles was really giving him this, and then leaned even closer to press his nose against Stiles’s neck, breathing him in, and rubbed his light stubble against the sensitive skin. He was leaving his scent behind and taking Stiles’s with him.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Peter murmured into Stiles’s neck.

“Something to tide you over for the next—” Stiles looked at the clock on the wall. “Two hours and eleven minutes.”

Peter rumbled happily, then seemed to wrench himself off Stiles and backed away. “I’ll come pick you up. Rest, alright. It’s mild, as far as concussions go, but you need the rest.”

“Go save lives, mate,” Stiles told him and got a flash of blue beta eyes in response before Peter left the room.

How his mate had gotten those, Stiles didn’t know. But they had the rest of their hopefully long lives to figure it out, at least if Stiles managed to stay mostly on his feet from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from, but here it is. Hope you liked it. :)


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